How to tell the tale "Little Red Riding Hood" by famous writers? Bashny.Net

Honore de Balzac:
Wolf reached grandmother's house and knocked on the door. This door was made in the mid-17th century by an unknown master. He cut her out of fashion while Canadian oak, gives it the classical form and hung it on the iron hinges, which at one time, perhaps, were good, but is now badly rattled. On the door there were no ornaments and patterns, but in the lower right corner one could see the scratch, which said that it has made its own spur Celestin de Shavard - a favorite of Marie Antoinette and cousin's maternal grandmother's grandfather's Little Red Riding Hood. For the rest, the door was ordinary and therefore you should not dwell on it in more detail.




Victor Hugo:
Red Riding Hood trembled. She was alone. She was alone, like a needle in the desert, like a grain of sand among the stars, like a gladiator among venomous snakes, like a sleepwalker in the oven ...



Jack London:
But she was a worthy daughter of her race; in her veins flowed the blood of strong white explorers of the North. Therefore, and without batting an eye, she threw herself into a wolf, he had received a crushing blow and immediately reinforced it one classic uppercut. Wolf ran in fear. She looked after him, smiling his charming female smile.



Gabriel Garcia Marquez:
It will take many years, and the Wolf, standing against the wall waiting for the shooting, remember that distant afternoon when grandmother ate the cake as much arsenic as would be enough to wipe out a lot of rats. But it is as if nothing had happened, was tormented by the piano and sang until midnight. Two weeks later, Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood tried to blow up the tent unbearable old woman. They watched with bated breath as to the detonator cord for crawling blue light. They both stopped their ears, but in vain, because there was no screen. When Little Red Riding Hood ventured inside, hoping to find a dead grandmother, she saw that her life rife old woman in tattered shreds shirt and burned wig worn here and there, scoring the fire blanket.



Vladimir Mayakovsky:
If,
Comrade,
put you
hat,
red
cap
meat
top - boldly go:
you all have
by ***
boldly go,
one
do not be afraid
tight squeeze
pies
for grandma,
gnawing
Wolf
nourishing
life!



Guy de Maupassant:
Wolf met her. He looked at it that special look that experienced Parisian libertine throws at provincial coquette, which is still trying to pass himself off as innocent. But he believes in her innocence no more than her and if already sees how she undresses her skirt falling one after another, and it is only in a shirt, under which outlines the sweet shape of her body.



Victor Pelevin:
Wolf:
 - Tell me who you are?
Little Red Riding Hood:
 - Like who? Little Red Riding Hood.
 - No, you think you're a red cap. Do you think that putting
red hat, you become red. Hood, incidentally, also
He thinks that it is red.
 - Well, how can thinking cap? And what is it, if not red?
 - And you put on his cap on his head. There Is. What color is it?
 - Red.
 - Exactly?
 - Yes.
 - Did you see her?
 - No.
 - And why did you say that it is red?
 - I ... Ah! Understood. I think that it is red! And if I have it on his head,
she thinks so too!
... An elderly woman woke up and saw through a veil of a group of people
in robes.
 - But look at an interesting case, this woman thinks she
Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother ...



Edgar Allan Poe:
At the edge of the old, dark, entwined into a mysterious forest-tight veil over which floated ominous dark clouds of vapor and if the sound could be heard the fatal shackles, in the mystical horror lived Little Red Riding Hood.



Erich Maria Remarque:
Come to me - said Wolf.
Red Riding Hood poured two glasses of brandy and sat on his bed. They inhaled the familiar scent of cognac. This cognac has been longing and fatigue - melancholy and fatigue fading dusk. Cognac was life itself.
- Of course - she said. - We have no hope. I have no
future.
Wolf was silent. It was agreed with her.



J. R. R. Tolkien:
Immediately behind the house Red Riding Hood forest began. This forest was one of the
now a few fragments of the Great Forest, which covered formerly all
Sredzemele - for a long time, even before the onset of the Great Darkness. Once in
former times, being on the edge of the forest in the hour of sunset in
This forest could hear the song Sindarin - the language of the branches
Firstborn that never leave the land of mortals and
Sunset seen the light edges. But with the advent of the Great Enemy cheerful
folk left the forest, and now it was inhabited by evil, insidious creatures, most
of which have been dire wolves who spoke almost forgotten now Black
tongue - a language created by the enemies in the depths of the Twilight of the country for its
inhabitants.



Leo Tolstoy:
Quiet summer morning nature all fragrant smell of spring.
Deep blue sky lit up in the east of the first rays of
awakening sun. Baroness Red Riding Hood took a basket with
pies and went into the woods. She was wearing a wonderful white dress,
decorated with pearl beads clean tears. On a beautiful red head
beanie hat was fashionable, Italian straw, fine white hands
They were covered with elegant gloves, white batiste. On his feet were shod
shoes, very fine work. She glowed in the rays of the early sun
and fluttered along the forest path as fabulous white butterfly, leaving
a veil of fine French perfume.
Count Wolf used to wake up early. Not using the services
batman, he got up, got dressed, as usual, modest, and ordered
harness. Easy breakfast, he went into the woods.



Oscar Wilde:
Wolf. Sorry, you do not know my name, but ...
Grandmother. Oh, it does not matter. In modern society, the good name enjoyed the one who has not. Can I help you? Wolf. You see ... I'm sorry, but I have come to you to eat. Grandmother. How sweet. You are very clever gentleman.
Wolf. But I'm serious.
Grandmother. And it gives a special shine to your wit.
Wolf. I am glad that you do not take seriously the fact that I have just told you.
Grandmother. Now seriously to serious things - it is a manifestation of bad taste.
Wolf. And what we need to take seriously?
Grandmother. Of course a nonsense. But you are unbearable.
Wolf. When the wolf is obnoxious?
Grandmother. When tired of questions.
Wolf. And the woman?
Grandmother. When no one can put it in place.
Wolf. You are very hard on themselves.
Grandmother. I count on your discretion.
Wolf. Can you believe it. I will not say a word to anyone (it consumes).
Grandmother. (From the belly of the Wolf). It is a pity that you were quick. I'm just going to tell you a cautionary tale.



Daniil Kharms:
Two woodcutter went hunting
Grandma dug a tunnel under the fence
K. Sh threw pies in the swamp
A wolf fright fell under the ax



Ernest Hemingway:
His mother came in, she put her bag on the table. The purse was milk, white bread and eggs.
- Here, - said the mother.
- What? - I asked her Little Red Riding Hood.
- This is - his mother said, - Take it to your grandmother.
- Well, - said the Little Red Riding Hood.
- And look at both - the mother said, - Wolf.
- Yes.
The mother watched her daughter, whom everyone called Little Red Riding Hood because she always wore a red cap, and went looking for his daughter, leaving thought, it is very dangerous to let her alone in the woods. In addition, it is thought that the wolf was again to appear there. Thinking this, she felt that she begins to worry.